The first time I met Micah she was probably 70 years old, a quirky squirrel of a lady with oversize glasses and a tie-dye sun dress she never washed. Micah Blane – zaniest lady ever worked for me – personality bigger than Elvis on a 3-day donut binge.

“Well, was she really crazy?” Dwight asked.

Crazy? Hell yeah, she was crazy! Crazy as a hoot-owl on acid! You would be too if you lived with a house full of hippies, thirteen cats, 4 dogs, and a pigeon house. Lots going on in that house – she rented it out to art students who painted the walls with all kinds of crazy scenes. It was purplish blue – looked like a big blue turd. Smelled like one inside too – didn’t seem to bother her long haired guests though.

“And the birds? Why was she called the bird lady?”

Oh yes, the pigeons. It was the pigeons that gave her that name. They were up to no good when she was gone, but they spoke to her alright. Told her things – things about to happen – things nobody should know. Things I don’t care to talk about even today.